


Lux Dei

by shamusandstone (theleaveswant)



Category: CSI: NY
Genre: BDSM, Candles, Catholic, Churches & Cathedrals, Dom/sub, Kink Meme, M/M, Wax
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-02
Updated: 2008-09-02
Packaged: 2017-10-22 03:25:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/233212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theleaveswant/pseuds/shamusandstone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Don Flack has always been a lousy Catholic, but he still has a use for votive candles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lux Dei

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to wilde_stallyn for the beta!

“I'm afraid that's all I remember. I'm sorry I couldn't be more help.”

“On the contrary, Father, you've been extremely helpful. Thank you very much for talking with us.” Don closed his memo book and tucked it away in a jacket pocket.

“De nada,” the priest said, then covered a yawn. “Long day,” he said apologetically.

“We won't keep you any longer,” Don said. “Although—would it be possible for my colleague and I to stay for another minute or so, take another look around?”

He hesitated. “I suppose that would be alright. Take your time. The doors should lock automatically; just make sure you pull them closed when you leave. Detectives.”

The priest nodded to Don, and to Danny, who waved back absently. The CSI had wandered a few yards down the aisle, trying to identify the saints in the stained-glass windows. He didn't really register the priest's recusal until his echoing footsteps terminated with the thud of a closing door and they were alone in the church.

“Don?” He turned to find that the detective had removed his suit jacket and laid it over the back of a pew, and was neatly rolling up his shirtsleeves. Frowning at this puzzling behavior, Danny followed him towards the chancel. He stopped in front of the low table with its tiers of votive candles, several of which still flickered. Danny watched Don pluck a fresh taper from the lowest row and hold the wick to an extant flame until it caught.

“What are you doing?” He gaped as Don held the candle eighteen inches above his own outstretched forearm and tilted it, allowing the drop of melted wax which had welled up at the tip to fall onto the patch of hairless skin inside his elbow.

Don's lips pulled back from his teeth when the drop struck and he set the candle on the edge of the table. He drew his arm close to his face, peered at it, then scraped the nodule of re-hardened wax off with a fingernail. “Perfect.”

“Flack, what the hell--?”

“Strip to the waist and kneel down there.”

“Excuse me?”

“We still haven't done temperature play with you, have we, pet?” Don met Danny's eyes. He shook his head hesitantly. Don repeated, “Strip.”

“Don, we're in a _church_.”

“I noticed.”

Danny snickered. “Come on, enough goofin' around. I gotta get back to the crime lab.”

“Not right away.” Don took a step towards Danny, laid a hand against his stubbled cheek. “This whole damn week, none of us have been able to spend more than a minute alone together. Seeing you and Lindsay at work, not being able to touch you, it's driving me crazy. I know we've got a date set for tomorrow night, but I just don't have that kind of patience. Then you and me get sent out here, and through the whole interview all I can think of is something I heard from one of my Leather friends, about how the best candles for wax play are cheap, ordinary paraffin, just like the kind they use in churches.” He placed a delicate kiss on Danny's furrowed brow, pulled him tight against his chest. His breath tickled hot against Danny's scalp as he spoke again. “There's nothing in the world I want more than to play with you right now. You don't want that too?”

Danny squirmed away from him, looking nervously around.

“Don't you?” Don asked again.

“Yeah,” Danny muttered, “I want it. But Don—we're _in_ a _church_.”

“So?”

“'So'?! So we're in a freaking church, so!” He waved frantically at the technicolor hagiography looking down from all sides, the rows of empty pews, and the pale figure hanging emaciated on the rood.

“Yeah . . . you know, I never was a very good Catholic. Never paid attention at Mass, stopped going to Sunday school before I was ten. But you—Lindsay told me about the look on your face when you guys were out of town for that conference and she paddled you with the hotel bible, and I can see for myself the effect this stuff has on you. Come on—doesn't it make you just a little hot?”

“No!” Danny looked again at the glass-faced saints, his expression panicked, pleading.

Don grinned. “I thought you liked being watched. What, God frowns down on you here, but not in your apartment? Mine? The bathroom at that Thai place on 67th?” Danny grimaced. “Look, I won't do anything you don't want to. If you're really uncomfortable we can find someplace else, or I'll drop you off at the lab and we'll see each other tomorrow. You just have to say so.”

Danny studied Don's face: long lashes framing icy blue eyes, high cheekbones and strong jaw, that beautiful mouth that contorts in an instant from confusion to amusement, fury to affection, arousal to panting abandon . . . Swallowing, he raised a trembling hand to his throat and began to unbutton his shirt.

As per Don's orders, Danny peeled off his jacket, shirt and cotton vest. He knelt on the floor before the first pew, leaning forward onto it and resting his forehead on folded hands. He shivered a little, as much from the squirming vulnerability of blasphemous exposure as from physical chill, though the church was definitely cool. He shivered again when Don ran a folded handkerchief, damp with water from Danny's kit, over the smooth skin of his naked back.

Don traced a finger over yellow ghosts of bruises from their last scene, faded almost to invisibility. “So beautiful,” he murmured, then raised the candle. He held it far from Danny's skin at first, leaving the wax time to cool as gravity drew it to its target. Inch by inch he brought it closer, licking his lips when Danny twitched and moaned, pausing frequently to offer soothing words and wipe the sting away with the cool cloth. Eventually he knelt by Danny's side, fingers of one hand squeezed tight by Danny's and head cocked to the side to watch how teeth-gritting winces alternated with blissed-out sighs in the crest-and-trough cycle between stinging drips. “That's my boy, my good brave boy.”

Don sat Danny up, stroked his hair, allowed him to bury his face in his neck, then lifted his head so he could kiss his mouth, his jaw, his ear.

“On your back now, here, on the floor.” Don helped Danny to lie back on the cool tile. Danny squirmed, the lumps of cold wax pressing into his back like scales, the half-shed skin of a reptile. Don kissed him again, kneeling by his side, and bade him keep his hands pressed palm down, arms tight against his side. He unbuckled Danny's belt, pulled his jeans down above his knees.

With baby oil from the field kit (why there was baby oil in Danny's kit, he knew better than to ask), he slicked the exposed surface of Danny's body to prevent the wax from yanking on the tawny hair covering Danny's chest, belly and thighs and framing his half-erect member. He lingered here, working Danny's cock to full attention with his greasy hand. His other hand went into his own trousers to stroke himself in time as he slid Danny's foreskin back and forth over his head. He pumped his hands in slow, steady rhythm until they were both panting, then withdrew and reached again for the candle.

The first drop landed just below the navel, making Danny moan and buck up into his hand. Don trailed melted wax up the midline of Danny's torso to his sternum, flicked droplets across his pecs. A direct hit to his left nipple made Danny whine and Don rubbed the pre-cum welling from the tip of his prick down the underside of the head with his thumb. The candle traveled back down, scattering wax across his ribs and abs, then spiraled around his straining cock, circling tighter and tighter.

Don pushed his cock down, flat against his belly, pouring fat drops onto his scrotum, then moved to his shaft. Three drops up the veined underside, an ellipsis. He blew on the wax to cool it, then stroked, hard, with the flat of his palm until Danny came, semen shooting all the way to his chin, splashing hot as the melted wax.

Danny was allowed barely a minute to catch his breath before Don hauled him up by the scruff of the neck and pressed his face into his crotch. Don laughed as he fumbled with his zipper, trying to decide which would be in worse taste: “suck this candle” or “on your knees and pray”, then groaned as Danny's hot mouth closed over his throbbing cock. Danny gulped eagerly, taking in as much as he could. Saliva leaked from between his lips and trickled down Don's shaft as he swirled his tongue around the head. “Oh, fuck. You've become quite a talented little cocksucker, haven't you, pet?”

Don's fingers dug into Danny's scalp as he urged him on. He rocked back on his heels as he came, a wordless cry echoing in the empty hall.

He groaned contentedly as Danny withdrew, felt his larynx bob against his thigh as he swallowed Don's load. He straightened his legs, lying back on the floor, and chuckled at the Cheshire grin splitting Danny's beard as he crawled up beside him to lay his head on his shoulder. “That was really . . .”

“Yeah,” Danny agreed.

“Sacrilicious.”

Danny snorted, then scrunched up his face in embarrassment and covered his eyes with his hand. “I cannot believe I just gave a blowjob in church. I am going straight to hell—assuming God doesn't just smite me the moment I stand up.”

“You're not going to hell. At least, not for that. And if you do, Lindsay and I'll be right there with you, so what's the worry?” Don sat up, cracked his neck, and handed Danny the damp cloth so he could clean himself up. He scowled at his clothes—both pants and shirt were a smörgåsbord of 'transfer' for the crime lab gang: oil, wax, 'biological fluids'. He'd definitely have to change before returning to the precinct, and Danny would probably need a shower. He looked over to see him picking off beads of wax, collecting them in his palm before dumping them in the garbage pail. Standing slowly, shaking the circulation back into his legs, he replaced the diminished stub of the votive and gathered up their clothes.

“You think this place is still gonna smell like sex in the morning? Think Padre Brandes will guess what we did here?”

Danny groaned. “Can we please not talk about this right now?”

“Sure, sure. The wax was good, though, right?”

Despite himself, Danny purred satedly. “Yeah, the wax was good.”

“Glad to hear it.” Don held the door open for Danny and his kit. “I'll be sure and remember to refill my ice cube trays before our date tomorrow.”


End file.
